Smashed Together
by Gun toten Girly
Summary: Where believing in death, of happiness, of renowned love, and of rekindled friendships leads you to places so unexpected... it would almost seemed as if they were smashed together on purpose. -Collection of oneshots, times vary. Character death-


**Authoress Note:** Sorry for the inactivity lately, guys. Writer's block sucks ass. It's 2:30 in the morning right now, but for some reason felt like I needed to reassure you that no, I have not died. Yet.

Much too short to be standalone oneshots, I decided to convulse them all together randomly. Actually, not randomly, but in chronological order of how things would play out. Short drabbles, really. Not edited and not revised. Completely and utterly raw.

… ::shudders:: …

* * *

**Fear**

"_Courage_

_Is not the absence of fear,_

_But rather the judgment_

_That something else_

_Is more important_

_Than fear._"

-Ambrose Redmoon

* * *

Bright.

Everything was bright. Unbearably so. She was too tired to even scrunch her eyes closed, instead slowly closing them with an almost drunken expression. Each breath was more painful then the last. All around her she heard and smelt unusual sensations.

First and foremost, someone was having a coughing-fit. The noise pounded through her head, and she groaned. A peculiar taste rose out of her mouth, a scratching sensation burning at her throat. She cough, feeling a dry cloud escape her mouth. Immediately she felt more clawing up her throat.

Inevitably, she coughed and hacked. With all of the strength in her body, she rolled to her side, grunting in pain. _Everywhere_ hurt. Her back, her legs, her arms, neck, head, stomach, feet, hands, chest…

She heaved, not yet having the energy to open her eyes. A part of her was wondering if she wasn't opening her eyes because she was afraid. That was idiotic. For some reason, the mention of the word 'fear' made her want to snort. Unfortunately, when she unintentionally acted upon it, the coughing grew more severe.

She had to open her eyes.

Upon opening, the sight was even brighter. A yellow-brown-color, so bright tears dripped straight from her eyes. She shuddered, taking in a deep breath, and hacked up the dryness in her throat. Her eyes painfully widened when a puff of smoke cascaded around her. She coughed when she inhaled it, more smoke pouring from her mouth. It was at this point when she noticed something odd. Her entire body was shaking, her arms straining painfully as she tried to keep her body upright. She couldn't breathe. Wheezing, whimpering, and a peculiar whining squeaked from her mouth, making her cheeks flush.

Something strong wrapped on her arm. She was useless, her body flopping like a pancake at the mercy of whoever was lifting her up. She continued to cough, her eyes drooping so everything was blurred. And still she continued to shake.

"Mg Shock," a murky voice said. She frowned, blinking lazily. Her coughs were finally starting to slow, and she slowly sucked-in another breath.

"Ms. Short," the voice repeated. She frowned, but continued to listen. "Captain, are you alright?"

Ms. Short? _Captain_? A battering ram slammed into her head. Memories sprang from nowhere, flashing behind her eyes in an unfamiliar sequence. She wasn't even sure if all the memories were hers. She was Captain Holly Short of Section 8. Just returning back from Hybras and having to cough pathetically in front of somebody.

She shuddered again, expelling more smoke from her lungs, and squinted at her helper. His shape was blurred horribly. Was that horns? And why was there sunlight shining through his body?

"Ms. Short," Holly watched as her assistant shuffled, and she felt something against her back and beneath her other arm. Was he lifting her up?

She finally put a name to the voice. "Qwan?" She rasped, her mouth further-occupied by another coughing fit. Qwan patted her back gently, keeping her steady on her feet. A ringing annoyingly pierced through her headache. He had horns because he was a demon, of course, and the sunlight wasn't shining _through _him — it was reflecting off his armor.

"I'm very sorry, Ms. Short. I thought there wouldn't be any serious side-effects, but I forgot that you and the human-boy weren't built for time-travel. Or ash."

Human-boy? What human-bo —

_Artemis_.

"Artemis," she rasped. Humans weren't equipped for extremities. A fairy's lungs were built to withstand intense heat and pressure, and could easily expel anything foreign. It was one of the reasons why pneumonia and bronchitis were so rare in the Lower Elements. And if_ she_ was having trouble breathing…

Could Artemis _even _breathe?

"Artemis," she croaked again. Qwan looked around, now a little anxious for the Mudboy. He had saved their lives, and it was an oath that he would never forget. He dearly, honestly hoped the young man was alright. Everything-ash blended together. It was pure luck that he managed to find the Captain, her coughing and croaking guiding him. There wasn't any other sound other than Ms. Short's coughing and N°1's sneezing. Qweffor was still unconscious, but one look at him and you could tell he was fine. Snoring wasn't usually a concerning symptom.

Their hearts beat faster, and Holly's tears suddenly turned agonized. Where was he? He had saved her life and she had foolishly allowed him to go through the time tunnel in a fragile — abnormally-so — human body. Stupid, stupid, stupid… every thought was suddenly filled with agonizing worries for her human companion, and she ignored the other sounds as her eyes drifted across the landscape. Ash, dirt… rocks… a tiny hill… another hill…

A high-pitched whimper sliced at her concentration. She turned her head back slowly and noticed a peculiar glowing from N°1's markings. Qwan gently set Holly on the ground, propping her up against a still-steaming rock. Qwan trudged away from the Captain, hoarsely trying to calm N°1. He'd kill them all by accident if he got too afraid. The Mud Boy… unfortunately, would have to wait.

"Artemis," Holly's voice croaked again. She stumbled wobbly to her feet, coughing up more smoke. Wonderfully, amazingly, a pained groan broke through the air. It was raspy, inducing coughs and hoarse breathing. The voice was male, young, cracking through the middle like a Mud Boy going through puberty.

She barely managed to smile through her tears, another fit coming over her. She looked up and noticed a lump in the ash shifting, irrupting from the ground and suddenly growing four limbs. A body rolled over on its stomach, wheezing and hacking all at the same time. It was shaking, too, and the head — looking much too big for the slim, tiny body — struggled to stay up.

He was alive.

Holly stood to her weak knees and trudged through the muck towards her best friend.

Even better, he looked dazed and confused.

* * *

**Embarrassed**

"_If a man insisted always on_

_Being serious,_

_And never allowed himself_

_A bit of fun_

_And relaxation,_

_He would go mad_

_Or become unstable without_

_Knowing it._"

-Herodotus

* * *

She could feel it growing in her. It was uncontrollable, almost unstoppable. It bubbled through her chest, burned up her throat and lodged in her mouth. She clamped her jaw tight, causing her teeth to ache and her head to hurt.

He… He… she couldn't even say it. His body was stiff, unmoving, and his eyes blankly stared back at her. His skin was paler than normal, his body twisted at an unnatural angle. If she opened her mouth she knew she wouldn't be able to contain herself.

A trembling hand rested on her shoulder. Holly didn't have to turn to know it was Mrs. Fowl, having grown accustomed to her impromptu arrivals. The hand gripped her shoulder in a death-lock, and Holly wanted nothing more than to drag her away. Seeing your child like this, in a destroyed room and shock overcoming him…

It would make Angeline want to beat him with a baseball bat.

Artemis—the master prodigy, cold with strangers and only semi-reserved with friends, the one teenager who prided himself for his hard exterior—was standing in the middle of the kitchen, a dripping chunk of cookie-dough in one raised fist. He was covered from head-to-toe in flour, his entire face, clothes, and hair varying shades of white. Across the room was another person, more feminine and taller. Juliet, no doubt, and she looked exactly like the boy in front of them.

Standing on the island-counter and table were identical white-figures. Both of them were in the action of throwing something—in fact, _all_ of them were about to throw some kind of food. The room was in chaos with chairs overturned, food dripping from the ceiling, and ingredients smeared onto the walls. The kitchen turned from being the envy of any mother, to the bane of said-mother's existence.

And Angeline was not happy.

"Artemis," Holly heard the note of restraint in her voice. "What the _hell_ is this?" Artemis had never heard his mother curse, and instantly knew he was in immense amount of trouble.

One of the smaller white figures spoke up, dropping the food and stabbing his finger in Artemis's direction. "It was Arty's fault!" Beckett's voice rang out.

Holly exploded; the laughter she had so desperately tried to constrain blew past her lips and filled the room. Angeline was seething, though the elf beside her was quickly softening her mood. Why was she angry? Finally—after fifteen _years_—Artemis was… having fun. With his brothers, no less, _and_ Juliet!

Simultaneously—one sheepish, the other overjoyed—smiles spread across Artemis and Angeline's face. Artemis dropped the cookie-dough, his blush so bright you could see it underneath the powder. He attempted to wipe it on his trousers, but the flour kept the dough in his hand. Holly was laughing mirthlessly, doubled-over in pain and almost kneeling on the dirtied tile. Angeline folded her arms, trying to glare but failing. Her amusement was shining in her eyes, and Artemis knew he wouldn't be in that much of trouble.

Hopefully.

Juliet sighed, a puff of powder exploding from her mouth. She threw her dough on the ground, irritated. _Just when they were all going to pelt Artemis, too…_ She ran her fingers through her hair, grimacing when the remnants of cookie-dough on her hand got caught in it. She brushed her hands, watching with a smile when a cloud irrupted in front of her.

The other small figure—Myles, no doubt—followed the girl's example, flinging it onto the ground. He knew without a doubt that all of them were going to be reprimanded, and thanked his lucky stars that Father and Butler were on a business-trip in America. Mom, however, was incredibly agitated, and he wondered idly if he could manage to escape.

"Er…" Artemis felt ridiculous. He couldn't believe he had gotten caught up in this. A _food-fight_? How could he _possibly_ lower himself to throwing food around and trying to purposely hit somebody? Of course all his throws had missed—he was terrible at aiming—but more than once a handful of chocolate-chips had bombarded him, and dough was stuck in the most indecent of places.

And, no less, _Holly_ had seen him like this. She was never going to let him live it down. That wasn't the point, though, as the humiliation washed over him.

"I'm… sorry?" He squeaked, feeling utterly absurd. Fowls don't' _squeak_! This is certainly not going well. His face was becoming an uncomfortable temperature. Horrified, he averted his eyes and cleared her throat, extremely conscious of Holly's laughter and five pairs of eyes on him. His thoughts became parallel with Myles's, however, instead of just escaping Artemis was verging on the point of never coming out of his room.

Angeline shook her head, kneading her forehead as her smile turned into disbelieving. The twins began to laugh as Holly whooped and wiped a tear from her face. She was going to savor this memory for the rest of her life.

Artemis could feel his composure slipping, and instead of fleeing the scene he glared at Juliet, who snorted and backed off with her hands raised. "'Ey, Beckett's right. You started it."

Artemis was aghast, wanting to put the blame on somebody else. He could _not _take responsibility for this. The ceiling was dripping egg and milk; chocolate-chips, sprinkles, and walnuts sticking in clumps to the walls. Most uncharacteristic, he jabbed a finger at her. "You're the one who said we should all bake cookies like a family." He hissed. It would take days to get the cookie-ingredients out of his clothes—now entirely undetectable under the flour.

Juliet's irritation flared, the disappointment disappearing entirely. "Wha—_excuse me_? All you had to do was say no, and maybe I wouldn't have—!"

Artemis's own temper reared like an angry horse, though now he had embarrassed himself thoroughly. "I _did_ say no! But you insisted, saying _they_," he pointed to the twins, who were avidly watching their brother lose his cool, "would be extremely sad!" His voice rose slightly, and Juliet recognized the tone… albeit, it took a second.

She stopped herself short. "Artemis… are you _embarrassed_?" She frowned, huffing and crossing her arms. "You know, you don't always have to be so cold all the time. It's okay to have a little fun."

Artemis took a deep breath, exhaling through his nose. He pinched the bridge of it and closed his eyes. "Juliet, I am not embarrassed," _Liar!_ "I just merely wished baking cookies hadn't escalated to this level."

Holly was now done with laughing, watching with curiosity as Artemis tried to regain his dignity. She frowned, and was about to open her mouth when somebody cut her off.

"But… didn't you have fun, Arty?" Beckett, asked, cocking his head to the side.

"Yeah, we heard you laughing like you were really having fun." Myles added, and both Juliet and Beckett nodded, recalling laughter they'd never before heard. Artemis's face turned such a deep maroon that it would have made Julius Root proud.

"I was certainly not laughing and I hardly thinking throwing food around counts as fu—"

The Irish teenager was viciously interrupted, a suspicious-looking piece of brown mush colliding with his mouth. Holly was highly impressed, and looked in the direction of the twins. Beckett had a large smile on his face, but Myles looked… scarily innocent.

Artemis sputtered, ignoring the giggling of his mother and Juliet. It might have been immature, it might have been entirely childish, but he scooped low to the ground, and threw with all his might a handful of cookie-dough at his twin brothers. They squealed, raising their tiny hands to deflect the projectile.

It missed.

* * *

**Guardian Angel**

"_We cannot pass_

_Our Guardian Angel's bounds,_

_Resigned or sullen,_

_He will hear our sighs._"

-Saint Augustine

* * *

Watching her, he couldn't help a smile of his own. Her teeth gleamed white as her lips pulled into a brilliant smile. Her eyes were closed and she let loose peals of laughter that grabbed the attention of bystanders.

He shuddered from her joy, sighing from the wonderful feeling. She opened her eyes, a few tears slowly escaping the corners. The man in front of her was laughing lightly, trying to keep his voice steady. He was doing his utmost best not to follow her lead — she looked absolutely _ridiculous_ — but his shoulders were trembling from the attempt.

Sitting on the potted plant, Artemis stared as the woman continued to enjoy herself. The world around him was warm and cozy, the clattering of silverware and dinner plates filling the restaurant. The lighting was dim and had an orange-tint. The tables were plastic and painted to look like wood. He sighed, hair flopping back into his eyes, and unconsciously moved out of the way when a waitress walked by. His foot, however, didn't move, and he froze when a shock raced up his leg when she past through. He idly watched as smoke unfurled from his toes, clinging to the waitress's leg. Slowly it curled back, reforming the half of his loafer that disappeared.

Artemis sighed again, and his hair caught in his eyelashes.

"Wait, wait, this is the best part…" the man's deep voice caught his attention again. He leaned forward, silently curious as to what in the joke had caused the woman so much laughter. _It better be a good one_, he thought, and slid off the potted plant to stand at the woman's shoulder.

Nobody noticed him, of course.

"Why?" A feminine, raspy voice echoed around the room. He froze again. He'd heard the voice before, of course. She'd come to him in his sleep so many times when he was alive.

He turned — forgetting about the couple and their joke — and found what he'd been looking for. A tall, elegant woman dressed in silken cloth lounged on the back of a family-booth. Her legs and feet were bare, as were her arms and hands. Her skin was tanned, her long hair plated with roses and ribbon, and her finger held a single white dove. It cooed and fluttered from its perch, disappearing through the ceiling. Artemis vaguely hoped it would find the surface. He turned his attention to the woman before him, her gaze so powerful it sent his fingers curling.

"Why what?" He asked. A delicate eyebrow rose and her eyes turned fierce. The roses transformed into myrtles, and suddenly he felt his chest tighten as if in heartbreak.

Her voice whipped like a chain. "You little impudent child. Usually people acknowledge who they're speaking to before asking questions. I may not have physical power like the other Olympians —" her fingers twitched a fraction, and the pain in his chest exploded. He winced, and almost collapsed on the tile. "— but I can make your life ten times worse."

He chuckled, raising his own eyebrow. "What life? I'm already dead."

Her anger dissipated, pity glaring at him and causing his fist to tighten. She sighed, rolling her eyes. "You're lucky; not many others are as forgiving to rudeness as I am." Her gaze turned speculating. "I find it rather endearing, actually, but only to an extent." Her dark eyes blazed again.

He gritted his teeth, glancing at the small woman sitting behind him. _For her_, he thought, watching with a faint smile as she laughed again, _best to get on her great-great-grandmother's good side_. He sighed — for the _third_ time — and did his best not to glare at the elegant woman before him.

He kneeled. "Venus, Goddess of Love. Or do you prefer Aphrodite?" He looked up through his lashes at her satisfied expression. She made a noise of content, examined her nails, and pursed her lips. She glanced at him through the corner of her eye, watching as he shivered from the touch of a toddler's flailing hands.

"Venus, if you wouldn't mind. Aphrodite is long."

He smiled, and gathered up off his knees. The woman stared at him with curiosity, the myrtles transforming once more into roses. The silk wrapping around her body seemed to change colors, from violet, to red, to pink, and then back to purple. Glitter covered her body and her face was clear from any makeup.

"Surprised, much?" She asked at his probing gaze. "I'm the Goddess of Love, yes, but not of fashion, young boy. I promote natural beauty." She sat up from the booth, her legs sweeping through a pixie's back. He jolted from Venus's touch, and when his wife asked him if he was okay — while spooning food into the toddler's mouth — he looked at her with such love and fierce adoration that Artemis had to look away. Venus smiled, gliding across the room to him.

"It's amazing what one touch can do, isn't it?" She murmured. "The joy of love — pure love, not the puppy dog kind — is one of the most powerful things on the planet. All throughout history love has persevered, ignoring the hardest of struggles." She shook her head. "Even as all my great-nieces and nephews start to fade — from pollution and human's sheer disbelief in them — my domain has never faltered, though it has gotten smaller." She glanced up at him. "Do you understand my point?"

Artemis frowned, trying to find the hidden metaphor in her words. He shook his head, and almost smiled as she huffed in aggravation.

"Young Artemis," she crossed her arms, and they both stared at the young elfin couple eating dinner. "False love is everywhere. It convinces you that you'd do anything for that person — even risk your own life for them — but it is not the pure, joyful love that less and less people are experiencing."

Artemis frowned, tapping his fingers on his arm, rubbing the texture of Armani in between them. "You're saying I wasn't truly in love with her?" He asked, his chest tightening at the thought. She seemed to sense his distress, and smiled sympathetically.

"No. I'm saying that false love is under your nose. You should not feel anger because of something that is not true." She nodded in the couple's direction, watching as the woman rolled her eyes playfully and the man laughed.

Artemis's frown deepened. "I'm not jealous," he finally relented, "I don't care what she does, just as long as she's happy."

Venus smiled. "And that is why I've come to see you, young Artemis. Despite your namesake, you have fallen pray to me." She flicked a piece of hair out of her eyes. "Love is powerful, is it not? Though you feel the need to know she is yours… and for her to know it back…" the woman and man stood from their table, the man discreetly slipping his hand over her shoulders. "You have given yourself the relief of self-pity, and hope for her happiness over yours."

Artemis could feel his feet wanting to follow the couple, his fingers fisting in annoyance. Venus smiled. "Maybe it is time to relieve your position as her guardian, and let somebody else have their turn. You have stayed long enough, and endured enough heartbreak." She held her hand up at his objection, cutting him off. "I'm the Goddess of Love, Artemis. Not of incompetence. Nor stupidity. You both will have your time, though it might not come for a while." Her eyes held sympathy again. "Elves have exceptionally long lives, and Miss Short is not even halfway through hers." She turned back to the retreating couple. "I can reassure you, though, that she will live happily. Guilt of your death has plagued her long enough."

Her hand rested on his arm, and warmth spread through him. "It's time to let her go, and for patience to take over. You two will be together eventually," her eyes twinkled, and Artemis suddenly felt reassured. "I will make sure of it."

* * *

**Marble Floors**

"_Loneliness_

_Is about the scariest thing_

_Out there._"

-Joss Whedon

* * *

When her eyes opened again, she gasped. Immediately a large, elegant staircase loomed in front of her. It was marble — beautiful with the random splotches of grey contrasting with the pureness of the white. A blood-colored, thick, heavy rug spilled down the steps, looking for the entire world like it was painted-on. The mahogany banisters gleamed along with the marble.

It was obvious the staircase was the focal-point of the room, though the room was intensely gorgeous by itself. The floor was a darker shade of marble, completely shiny and polished. A chandelier more gorgeous and intricate than she could describe hung on a thin chain, its light brightening the room and making everything surreal. On either side of the stairs, french windows that were two-stories tall exposed the black night beyond, complete with trees swaying and the sprinkle of stars. The room was completely empty, save for a few sconces gripping the bare walls. Translucent curtains fluttered as a breeze swept into the room and she shivered.

Distracted, she looked down wondering how she was so cold. Sandaled high-heels the color of onyx encased her feet. Her toenails were long with French-tips, and her ankles were completely void of any scars. A slim, flimsy dress that matched the color of her shoes twisted stylishly around her torso, loosening around her thighs and hanging to the bottoms of her calves. It was quite easy to move in. Odd, she'd always had problems walking in heels.

She was curious and stretched her hands in front of her. Like her toes, her fingernails were manicured and chiseled so no scars showed. The shimmery gown hung lightly on her shoulders by tiny straps. A heavy necklace rested against her chest. She didn't have to look to know it was real diamond, and neither for the dangling earrings. She reached above to feel her hair, intrigued by how she seemingly had enough of it for a complicated twist.

She searched the room again. It _surely_ looked familiar, though she was certain there was furniture missing. Another breeze swept in and she shivered once more, wishing for at least a shawl. Why was she dressed so fancily? She hadn't dressed like this for, well, _ever_.

Somebody cleared their throat. She jumped, her hand suddenly stuck to her chest as she tried to regain her breath. Such a feministic gesture, surely she hadn't just done it?

At the top of the stairs a figure stood. It was scarily thin and lithe, unhealthily-so even through the loose clothes. It wore black slacks — as dark as her dress — and a silver dress-shirt that looked as if it were made out of moonlight. A hand rested on the silky banister, and slowly the figure descended, his face shrouded in shadows.

It spoke before she could, a voice that sent frightened chills up her spine but warmed her with relief, as if she'd been in pain and it suddenly disappeared.

"You're late."

His face came into the light, and, though the voice had given him away, she couldn't help the gasp that choked in her throat. He was exactly the way she remembered — his face sharpened after the years of childhood. His jaw was slim but angular, as was his nose and mouth. The large eyes set his face off-balance, the unnatural coloring of sapphire and amber staring at her. His hair was neatly swept off his forehead, shining in the chandelier's light. A smirk — so familiar that it made her want to cry — rose at the corner of his lips.

"I'm glad."

She shuddered, reveling at the sound of his voice. His dress-shoes finally touched the darker flooring, and he stood at the base of the stairs. They both stared at each other — her scared: him satisfied.

Finally, she spoke, her voice filled with denial.

"But _you're dead."_

Immediately his face relaxed from its smirk. Eyes rolled backwards and lids closed. His head arched backwards and he stared at the ceiling. His smile was genuine and showed white teeth. He sighed. "It's been so long since I've heard your voice." He murmured. He slowly opened his eyes, the smile still there, and he took a confident step towards her.

Her breathing hitched. He looked nothing like the old man she last saw him as. Though wrinkles still curled from the corners of his eyes and faint creases were still wedged in his forehead, Artemis Fowl looked as healthy as ever. Though the pale — almost ghostly — skin, and the normal purple bruises under his eyes said otherwise. His smile faded, and soon he was only an arm's reach away from her. Another gust blew in.

His expression was unimaginably sorrowful. The creases deepened as he frowned, his eyes never once leaving hers.

"Yes, Holly, I am."

Holly took this as an actual blow, her hand slipping from her chest to her stomach. She felt crippled. For _centuries_ he's been dead — just a small segment in her history that it was almost a blink — and still it hit her as hard as the first time. It was him, that small, tiny space in her past that had forever changed her. He didn't move, didn't make a move to help her, but his eyes stripped away from hers and focused on the crimson rug beneath them.

Silence surrounded them and filled the once-empty room. When she looked back up, she found him staring at her again. The nervousness was completely absent from his face, though worry was distinct. She found herself wishing to hug him, to really feel his warm slender body against her face, the sound of his heartbeat, to really feel him _there_. She wanted to bleach the last memory of him—old, withered, with eyes closed and lying inside a casket.

His smile returned. Lifting his arms, his fingers reaching for her lazily. "Come here." She was shocked—did he read her mind?—but didn't dwell on that fact for too long. Even _before_ he could read her mind. She smiled—hoping he'd ignore the tears in her eyes—and stepped forward into his arms, her heels silenced by the thick rug.

Her hands easily touched behind his back. She leaned her cheek against the soft, silken fabric of his chest and sighed peacefully when his weak arms wrapped around her. She started to shake, embarrassingly, and soon he was awkwardly patting her back as she tried to keep herself together. He was really here. He was really hugging her—not dead, not decayed beyond belief, not a skeleton. But here, alive, her best friend.

A tear leaked from her closed eyes. She heard a groan from him and looked up. His expression was pained. "Oh come on, now. I've waited almost two-millennium for you, and you start to cry." It melted smoothly to a gentle smile, his hand appearing to wipe the tear off her face. It was intimate, but not romantic. Though somehow this gesture struck something inside her.

She pulled away from him, her eyebrows raised in annoyance. "Do you know what I've been through? You were one of my best friends and I had to live so much longer then you." She didn't feel like elaborating, instead opting to hug him again. Tightly. "It hurt."

He chuckled, though heard a painful undertone in it. Good. She could still hurt him. It brought a smile to her face. His heartbeat was loud and firm in her ears, and his warmth radiated through her and warded off the chill. She closed her eyes contentedly, wanting to stay here all night and…

She jerked suddenly. His arms immediately drifted off of her, his startled expression meeting her eyes. She stared at him, taking in the grooves and contours of his face. If she was standing here, hugging a dead person, then wouldn't that mean…?

Artemis seemed to understand—as he always did. His surprised expression changed to one of sympathy, and he stilled himself as her nails started to dig into his skin. He didn't care if the material would rip, and only looked in her eyes.

"Yes, Holly," His hands came to her shoulders, and though his body was warm and comfortable, his hands were cold and hard, much like his voice that was no longer gentle. "You're dead, too. We both are." And a smile more brilliant than ever lit his face, his arms swooping down around her in a bone-crushing hug.

"I missed you terribly."


End file.
